


Shore

by Dawn_Blossom



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Mental Breakdown, Miscommunication, Other, Passive Suicidal Ideation, Pining, Unhealthy Relationships, don't worry this grima would never let chrom die -again-, i am not a professional but i would not call anyone's mental health in here 'good', original bad timeline chrom gets jealous of risen king chrom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27951836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: If anyone were to ask how Chrom is faring in Askr, he would say “alright,” and he would be lying.(Or, Chrom has a breakdown in front of Grima after they ignore him in favor of Risen King Chrom.)
Relationships: Chrom/Gimurei | Grima
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Shore

**Author's Note:**

> "I love making my otp happy!" *checks tags* uhhhh I can explain...
> 
> I mean, so many of my fics essentially have Chrom being the pillar of strength, and I like writing that very much, but... also, Chrom "were I alone, I might be driven to madness... or worse" von Ylisse really deserves to be the comforted one in the hurt/comfort fics sometimes. Grima has 6 wings... they can lift him.
> 
> So, yeah... I actually first made a [twitter thread](https://twitter.com/newcleicacid/status/1335685507892867075) about this idea, but then I decided I had enough to make a real oneshot... and now you get a oneshot. Uh, enjoy?

If anyone were to ask how Chrom is faring in Askr, he would say “alright,” and he would be lying.

Really, how is anyone supposed to hold up when they’ve been thrown from the bloody war they’re leading right into the middle of another one in a world _far_ more bizarre than their own?

(What the hell is an alfar? Why does one of them apparently turn into a giant goat?)

How is anyone supposed to hold up when everyone they’re supposed to know is actually from an entirely different world than them?

(Where did Olivia learn to wield daggers? How long has Nowi been able to use tomes? Why is there a version of _himself_ running around in bunny ears?)

How is anyone supposed to hold up when everyone around them is casually discussing their doomed future?

(Chrom isn’t so gods-damned stupid that he can’t figure out where his life is headed. His older sister made no sacrifice, his own injuries will never fully heal, and the only daughter he has is just starting to learn addition and subtraction.)

Of course Chrom isn’t faring alright. But no one is asking him. The only one who would invade the boundaries of his persona is…

Not with him.

Sure, there are all sorts of tacticians named Robin here. But they are all from worlds unlike Chrom’s. They flock to the heroes that share at least their histories, even if not their exact realities.

Chrom, for some reason, is the only doomed one.

Well, actually… There is one other. The one person Chrom longs to talk to. It’s just that the only Robin from a doomed world has changed so much that they only answer to “Grima” now.

Chrom doesn’t quite understand how his tactician could become the fell dragon, but the truth is… he wants to understand. He wants to talk to Grima so badly that it aches. Every time he sees them, they are alone. This should provide Chrom plenty of opportunity to get a word in, but in fact, all his attempts fail. Grima avoids him at all times. Sometimes they disappear before Chrom has the chance to so much as contemplate approaching. It’s like they can’t stand to catch even the slightest glimpse of him.

He feels like he’s dying. Grima claims to hate all of humanity, but everyone else gets at least a glare. What did he ever do to deserve this? What could he have done in their world to cause this treatment?

At this point, he just wants to be allowed to _look_ at them.

One day, he finally gets his chance as he finds himself walking down a corridor behind Grima, their hood up and blocking their peripheral vision. Were it not for the constant swirl of dark magic they surround themself with, Chrom wouldn’t be able to distinguish them from the other Robins. If he were the calm, rational type, he would have left well enough alone, but in his pained desperation he doesn’t fight the impulse to cry out.

“Grima, wait!”

It’s a mistake. He recognizes it the second Grima turns around. Fury blazes in their eyes as they adopt a stance better suited to the battlefield than the castle hallways.

“You obstinate pest,” they hiss. “Why are you always in my way?”

“Y-Your way?” How can they say that when they’re always heading in the opposite direction from him? “I’m just trying to say hello!”

It’s not exactly true, but he’s already forgotten everything he intended to say. Grima looks nothing like his tactician right now. _His_ Robin would never call him a pest, even if he was acting like one. 

His Robin would _want_ to see him.

“Hello,” Grima says. Their sarcasm is painfully familiar, but their contempt is simply painful. “Is that all?”

It most certainly is _not_ all, but Chrom struggles to word anything that doesn’t sound like a pathetic plea for forgiveness of whatever crime he’s committed against them. It’s so hard to speak…

It’s never been so hard to speak. Not to Robin.

“Er, we—” he stammers. “We could… train together. That is— I’m asking if— Can we train together?”

Grima’s anger changes from fire to ice in an instant.

“And give you an excuse to sink your blade into my mortal body?” they ask. “I think not!”

They don’t give him a chance to protest. Their magic flares around them, and they make a… a tactical retreat, except Chrom’s already lost this battle. As Grima leaves him alone once again, frustration surges through his veins.

“Damn it!” He slams his fists into the wall. How could he let things go so wrong? “Robin…”

He needs Robin… But they all have a better version of him to talk to. Except Grima, who just doesn’t want _anyone._

At least, it seems for the next several months that Grima just wants to be alone. They won’t look at him. They won’t stay in a room with him. But no one else can get close to them, either. Even the summoner, friend to all, keeps a respectful distance.

But then, _he_ comes. The Risen King. Chrom hates the creature. He bears Chrom’s name and wears his skin, but he is a mindless beast.

A mindless beast that Grima protects.

_That_ is what rankles Chrom most. He can accept that he is a failure, the worst version of himself to live in Askr. He knows that it is the younger princes who will go on to save their worlds, while all he can do is die, and fail Robin, and ruin Lucina’s life. But at least he is alive right now! He cannot believe that a corpse is better than him… That Grima can accept that thing while rejecting Chrom over and over and over again…

Perhaps it would be more bearable if Grima were at least cruel to the risen, but they aren’t… Not deep down. If anyone else had stumbled across the scene Chrom had, if they had seen how gently Grima wiped the blood from the risen’s face, they would have thought Grima had been replaced by a doppelganger. But Chrom saw it and saw only his beloved tactician.

Of course, then the risen caught sight of him, and then Grima caught sight of him, and it only proved once again how utterly despised _he_ is.

So yes, Chrom is jealous of a dead man. Every time he goes over the memory, he longs for those hands to be on _his_ face, for that soft look, for Grima’s care…

He cannot live without _someone’s_ care. He has never been his own man; first he was a boy and then suddenly he was the ruler of a nation, carrying his sister’s dreams and his people’s lives on his shoulders with his own beliefs as nothing but gap filler. He barely knows where he begins and ends. Without Robin guiding him home, he is stuck out at sea in a fog of his own troubles. He is lost. No one ever told him how to find the shore alone.

“Please…” he mutters. “Just take me home…”

Hardly any heroes roam the castle at this time of night. Those with nightmares might seek fresh air, perhaps, but no one would head where Chrom is going.

No one wants to disturb the fallen heroes.

Chrom doesn’t know what he’s doing, exactly. He wouldn’t be so stupid as to knock on Grima’s door. They don’t want him around. But he wants… He only wants…

He wants to be found.

“Rghh…”

Chrom stills. He didn’t mean _by anyone._ His eyes catch the reflection of light, and no madness could ever dull the instincts honed by war. He unsheathes his sword. A figure steps past a window into the moonlight. It’s that damned risen, his own sword raised. Seeing Chrom, however, he lowers his bizarre Falchion.

Chrom does not lower his.

If this is how Grima feels towards humanity, then it is no wonder that the world is destroyed. Chrom has not felt this searing rage since the Mad King of Plegia was still alive. That bastard’s smirk was worse than _this_ bastard’s empty stare, because Gangrel knew what he was doing and loved every second of it. But when Chrom fought Gangrel, he’d had something—everything—to lose, a country to lead, and a tactician he promised he’d live for. If he lets his temper win today, who would care? Who would care if he cut off the risen’s head? He’s never fought one, but he’s heard they turn to smoke. Who would care if Chrom turned to smoke right after him?

What difference would it make, when they’re both dead men walking?

He lets out a cry as he rushes forward. He has never been so unrestrained. He will destroy his failures tonight, or they will destroy him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Chrom’s blade goes nowhere, stilled by a wave of dark magic too strong to be torn through. Pain flares up his back as he’s suddenly slammed against the wall. Grima stares unflinchingly into his eyes.

He should have known… Of course that risen wouldn’t be roaming alone. 

“Why do you protect him?” Chrom asks through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t struggle against the hands pinning his arms, but Grima presses down harder nevertheless.

“So self-righteous _humans,_ ” they hiss, “don’t _destroy_ him.”

Frankly, Grima could have said anything. The answer doesn’t matter to Chrom.

“Why do you protect him and not ME?” he blurts out, his true feelings escaping from the cracks inside his heart. “How can you accept him and not even talk to ME?”

Grima’s eyes widen.

“What?”

Though Grima’s grip slackens, Chrom doesn’t move. Where would he want to be other than right here?

“Chrom…” they breathe. “Don’t…”

But it’s too late for Chrom to do anything but spill his guts in Grima’s arms.

“Do you like me better dead?” he asks. “Then take my life. It belongs to you.”

He’s been living for years on time Robin gave him. It would be no shame to give it back.

“Just let me be with you,” he begs.

“No…” Grima shakes their head. “No!”

Their hand, swathed in magic, hits the side of Chrom’s head hard. But then, as he begins to lose consciousness, he feels Grima wrap their arms around him.

And so Chrom, despite everything, is just a little bit relieved.

When he wakes again, he’s in a bed too soft to be his own. There is a hand on his forehead, but the second he takes a breath, it goes away. He blinks open his eyes, and Grima isn’t even looking at him.

Gods, why can’t Grima just look at him?

At least the risen is nowhere in sight. Chrom is not sure he would attack him now, here in Grima’s room, knowing Grima would stop him… But he’s not sure that he wouldn’t, either.

“Have you come to your senses now?” Grima asks. “What would your people say if they saw you throwing yourself to the fell dragon?” 

Nothing good, probably. Chrom sighs. He should sit up, but some part of him wishes he could simply stay curled up in Grima’s bed forever. So he stays put. Until Grima forces him away, he will stay put.

“What does it matter, if I can’t rule without you?” he asks.

Grima glances at him now, but only over their shoulder.

“You’ve lost your mind in this place,” they say.

“Your world followed the same timeline as mine,” Chrom says. “Don’t you know how close I already came to it?”

“Yes… I still... remember,” Grima says. They step towards Chrom, perhaps mindlessly. “I was always… aware. My unfortunate king, you were fate’s plaything.” 

They take another step, and another, until they are at Chrom’s side, and it can be no accident.

“I protect what’s mine…”

They sound like they’re going to say “but,” but the rest of the sentence never comes.

“If you can’t even tell what you’re supposed to be fighting for…”

Chrom blinks as Grima kneels, bringing their face close to his.

“… I have no choice but to protect you.”

They place one hand, shimmering with dark magic, painlessly atop Chrom’s head. They press a kiss to his cheek, a mockery of the accolade… but Chrom doesn’t care if it’s just Grima’s invented ceremony; their skin touches his more tenderly than it touched that risen’s, and Grima cares.

Grima still cares.

“Arise, my servant,” they order, and they hold out their hand.

It takes Chrom a moment, but he places his in theirs. He holds onto them, and they hold onto him, and somehow they both make it to their feet.

“This time,” Grima says quietly, “you will truly be mine.”


End file.
